Starbucks Addiction
by PavartiJanus
Summary: in an alternate reality, one in which childhood friends had never met, certain events never took place, and the lives of Mitch and Scott are completely different, the two people find each other through a coffee shop. They have the chance to grow a relationship, but how much different will their friendship be, having met as adults? Mitch Grassi, Scott Hoying, Scomiche, Pentatonix
1. Chapter 1

_I have no affiliation with the Starbucks chain, nor do I have any license to Mitch or Scott's lives. This is purely a work of fiction._

 _I thought it'd be fun to portray the queens as how they'd likely turn out without the influence of fame and fortune in their lives._

 _xxx_

It was another bland, boring day. Scott was caught on the last remaining fragments of a dream his motherfucker of an alarm clock had pulled him from as he pulled the seats from the tables and set them not-so-gently on the tiled floor. It was amazing. He'd been a rockstar or something, singing on a stage, surrounded by screaming fans and close friends. He'd traveled the world, shared a tour bus with faceless bandmates, and eaten food he'd never known existed. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him he lived a lame life. _Well, you're not wrong._ He told himself.

He couldn't remember much of it anymore, but he remembered something about living in his dream location, with enough money to not have to worry about getting through college. He didn't have to work… Here. He glanced around the coffee shop and dumped another chair to the floor. Well, it wasn't exactly terrible. In fact, he enjoyed the rush of customers and the hurry of mixing drinks. He was just crabby he had to live in reality again. He wasn't in LA, lounging in his bachelor pad. He wasn't in some fancy European restaurant or singing to fans with his imagined best friends. He was in Arlington, Texas.

"Hey, Scott," Angel's voice was gurgly because her chin touched her chest as she fastened her green apron around her neck. She was a spunky kid, for lack of a better word, and her hazel eyes told the tale of one who wished more than anything that she didn't have to work this morning. Especially not at 4:30 AM.

"Hey. Happy birthday," He commented, knowing she'd give him hell if he didn't remember.

"Seventeen," She nodded, and Scott could tell how pleased she was. She had a kind of smug smirk on her pixie-features.

Scott liked her well enough. She was fun, loud, and outgoing, with a shock of dyed purple hair that screamed her personality. Too many piercings than he cared to count ringed both ears, and her lashes were always thick with jet black mascara. An upturned nose carried another glittery rhinestone, and it made him think of a modern, more obnoxious, emo tinkerbell. She was fine to get along with. Just so damn obvious.

Her crush was evident as she attempted to engage him in conversation, once again bringing up her favorite subject: his height. "You know you're almost as tall as Andy Biersack?"

"Who the fuck is Andy Biersack?" He asked, though immediately regretted it. It sent the teen into her other favorite subject: her weird, obscure artists. He let her talk, and let his mind wander back to what he could retrieve of the dream, his arms routinely putting down the chairs without him.

There had been a person, someone he'd cared about, and it left a hollow feeling in his chest. He didn't know who was missing, nor how he'd known them, but there was definitely a hole where a relationship should be. Maybe a friend? Weird.

Angel was still talking. Why was she so fucking giggly? It was too early.

"Hey, you know I'm twenty four?" He attempted.

"Yeah. You told me." She smiled, not getting the hint. Of course she didn't. Scott forgot that Angel was perfectly fine with dating guys who were older than her; her last boyfriend was in his upper twenties.

So Scott just returned to his work and tried to numb his brain. Maybe it would make time go by faster.

Xxx

After twelve PM everything tended to slow down. Scott was settling back into the groove of being okay with his life again, and the dream had completely dissolved into nothing. It was a rough day, his shift starting with a slow hour, then the usual rush as caffeine-seeking soccer moms or bitchy business women blasted through the drive through. He was working at such a backbreaking pace, shooting drinks out with the speed of lightning, that he didn't have time to notice how exhausted he was. Now though, the long shift and late night were catching up to him. College classes were ramping up to midterms, and every professor seemed to decide it was a good idea to dump a shit-ton of work on the students during the last week before crunch-time. Scott hated it. He'd stayed up 'till eleven writing his thesis, and of course had to roll out of bed at three thirty.

So here he was, crashing from the redbull, waiting for the last two hours of his shift to end so he could go home. He was making plans to lounge on the couch, maybe eat some Cheezits or something, and wrap up that damn assignment. Trouble was, he was so exhausted, he doubted his mind would work the way he wanted it to anyway, at least not without a nap.

The bell rang, alerting him of a new customer. He left his work of cleaning the espresso machine and moved to the register, rolling his sleeves past his elbows, and plastered that rehearsed smile on his features.

A man stood there, rubbing his sneakers on the doormat. He was wearing sporty shorts and a black hoodie, though he didn't look particularly athletic. He was thin, a little on the small side, and his mannerisms were strange. No, adorable. His nose wrinkled as he approached the menu and read his options. Clearly, he needed glasses, but probably didn't care for them. His face was angular, kind of boyish, with thick dark lashes and arched brows. Scott was intrigued. He seemed so familiar, and he didn't know why. He had dark hair that was shaved at the sides, the top maybe an inch long and swept to the left, and his eyes matched the deep, almost black color. Like dark chocolate. A tiny septum ring glistened in his nose, and two matching ones adorned his ears.

"I'll have…" he began, but then fell into silence again, straight, bright white teeth biting his lower lip.

Scott was surprised by the voice that came out. He didn't know what he expected, but the pure, high pitch that emanated from him instead, wasn't it.

"Made up your mind?" Scott's smile turned real as the brown eyes met his and the customer's face lit up in a smile. He seemed so damn familiar, though he knew he'd never seen him before. He found himself wondering what the man would look like in some thick frames.

"Hi! I'll have a grande triple-shot iced latte?" He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, and his wrist was bent at an angle that looked almost feminine. The other hand was rubbing at his collarbone, which bore tiny tattooed lettering that labeled the pronounced clavicle. He seemed shy. Quiet. He chewed on his lip again. Maybe it was a nervous tick?

"Sure! Anything else?" Scott punched his order into the register, feeling Angel's movement behind him as the purple wonder began to run the espresso for the drink.

"Umm," He gave the menu one last look, "Nope. That'll be it."

He was damn cute. "Can I get a name on that?" He requested, poising a sharpie over an empty cup.

"Yeah, Uh. It's Coby."

"Coby. Kay, that'll be ready in a sec."

"Thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

Scott found himself sending discreet glances Coby's way the entire wait time. The outline of his profile as the sun glowed on his face made Scott realize how striking his nose was. How long his eyelashes were. He called the name as he held the finished drink, "Coby?"

The man was sitting on one of the barstools, messing with his phone, then looked up when he heard his name called. A smile warmed his features as he approached, and the tattooed hand slid the device in his hoodie pocket.

"I've never seen you in here. Is this your first time in?" He was feeling brave.

"Just drive thru," Coby accepted the drink, "I was feeling like stopping."

"Glad you did. It's great to meet you, Coby." God, no. That was too much. Scott wished he could take it back, but the man smiled, flattered, and cast a glance downward at his nametag.

"Great to meet you too, Scott." He went back to the table, sipping his drink.

"He was so fucking cute," Angel pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see her with a little bit of a blush on the apples of her cheeks, "Think I should ask him out?"

"Uh, he seems a bit old for you," Scott was immediately and irrationally defensive, and he didn't know why. Angel was fun, but she was all wrong for Coby. Right? Why was he being like this? He occupied himself by emptying the espresso machine, dumping the hardened puck of grounds into the canister.

To his horror, Angel left the counter and circled onto the floor. Fuck. Even though he wanted to avoid watching Angel embarrass herself, something made him stay focused on the back of her head. He kind of wished it was as easy for him as it was for her to be so bold.

"Hey," She sat across from Coby, pulling him from his phone screen with a surprised expression.

"Hey?"

"You wanna grab coffee sometime? I mean-not here. I know a good place by the Five Guys."

For a moment he only looked at her, then blinked. She was sitting like the barstool was her couch at home, and had an easygoing attitude. Scott squinted at the uncomfortable silence, even though he was safe behind the counter, his hands numbly wiping the surface with a rag as his eyes passed between the two. Like watching a gunfight.

"Um," He seemed surprised into silence. Scott was feeling uncomfortable on Coby's behalf, and then the dark haired man passed a glance his way. When their eyes met, Scott gave him a subtle head shake and a grimace, his hand making a 'cut' gesture.

Coby got the hint, because he turned back to her and smiled, "That sounds fun, but I don't think I have time. Thanks for inviting me."

But Angel, being Angel, continued to push, and Scott almost literally face-palmed. "I didn't mean today, just whenever you have time. You want my number?"

Their headsets went off, the high-pitched beeping loud in his ear, and Scott went to the sink to rinse his hands. Thank god. "Hey, Angel, can you get the drive-thru? my hands are wet." _You lying bitch,_ he thought with satisfaction.

Angel raised her hand to her headset, giving a huge eye roll, and gave the rehearsed answer, "Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get for you today?"

It was pure chance that someone entered the drive-thru in that instant, but the relief in the glance Scott and Coby shared as Angel left to answer it, was almost tangible. Coby smiled, showing his pearly teeth as he released a silent laugh.

"She won't leave me alone either," Scott took advantage of her absence and crossed to where Coby was sitting, "Sorry she bugged you like that."

"No, it's fine. I thought it was funny." He took a drink of his latte.

"I like the tattooes, by the way," Scott gestured to his hand, where three bats were arranged like they were flying across the sky. It matched the dark nail polish he was wearing.

"Thanks. You have any tatts?"

"No," He smiled," I want to get a sleeve eventually, but I don't have the money for that."

Coby leaned closer, his elbows on the table, and lowered his voice, "Listen, you want her to leave you alone forever?"

"What?"

"Angel. Purple wonder. You said she won't leave you alone. I have an idea."

"I'm listening," Scott gave a glance over his shoulder, but Angel was busy with drive-thru orders. It was strange, and felt like he was doing something sneaky and illegal like buying drugs, but he leaned down so they were a couple feet apart.

"Here's the plan. I'll stay around for about fifteen minutes, then go to the front. We have to be super flirty, and then I'll hand you my phone number. Act giggly about it. She'll leave you alone, I swear."

Scott almost snorted, "You what?"

"Believe me, it's totally gonna work."

Xxx

Scott was running new coffee pots when Coby approached the register, but his coworker got there instead. "Hi, hon" She grinned. For some reason she used 'hon' as a term of endearment, which seemed a little strange.

"Hi. Can I talk to Scott?" He sipped the remains of his drink and set the cup of ice chips on the counter.

"Sure." She looked slightly disappointed.

Scott's heart was racing. This was weird. "Hi," he was having second thoughts about going through with it, "What can I get for you?"

Coby rubbed his lip with his thumb and gave the taller man a look, raising one eyebrow. "You can get me tonight at 8. You like Italian?" Damn, he was good.

"You-Uh…" Wow. Even when he was expecting it, he managed to fuck it up.

But Coby was fast to recover, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, "You have a pen, Scotty?" His nimble fingers plucked one out of the jar by the register and began to scrawl something down, "I'm free all night."

Scott snapped out of his stupor and got over the tentativeness and took the slip, "Kay, I can do that."

"See you tonight," He turned, chucking his empty cup into the garbage and placing a hand on the door handle, but gave Scott one last look before leaving. He pushed a pointer finger in his direction, "Don't forget."

And then he was gone.

Scott unintentionally blushed. He looked down at the slip of paper, which had a small note and the ten digits in elegant handwriting, followed by a signature. _Thanks for a fun time,_ it read, and the signature was a collection of unintelligible loops. The only letters he could make out were an M and a G. M? His name was Coby, right?

He looked up, sliding the paper in his pocket, and had to force the laugh back as he saw Angel's facial expression. She had a mixture of awestruck horror, understanding, and anger. "I didn't know you were gay."

 _I'm not,_ he thought. But then why did Coby leave a warm feeling in his chest?

When he got a second to himself, he entered the numbers into his phone and keyed in a simple phrase, "Thank you."

An instant later, there was a string of words that made him bubbly inside and confused at the same time, "I was serious, Scott. See you at 8?"

He stared at the speech bubble in the app, and his fingers moved on their own accord, "See you then."


	3. Chapter 3

Scott felt unbelievably run down as he stumbled into his apartment, dumping his backpack onto the floor with a sigh. Now for a nap. His bed was a small twin, a little too short for him, but his funds were stretched as it was, and buying a new mattress wouldn't be justified. This one did its job. He flopped over the covers and was unconscious before he could take his shoes off.

He was awakened by his text tone. He pulled the device from his pocket, blearily checking the time. 4 in the afternoon. His thumb pressed the passcode and opened the text.

" _Hey, Scotty. I have a weird request."_

Scott frowned. Oh yeah. He had a date tonight. " _Uh oh."_ He responded with a smile.

" _I want you to wear your pajamas."_

What the hell? He was right: that was a weird request. " _To Italian?"_

 _"I've made different plans. Meet me tonight at my place?"_ Coby sent an address.

This was so crazy. Why the hell was he even considering going? Coby was practically a stranger. True, he'd helped him get Angel off his back, but he'd done so by convincing her Scott was gay, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. It might have opened up a whole new problem. Like his parents finding out.

But he was curious. It could be fun. " _See you."_

 _xxx_

The apartment building was simple and clean, made of painted bricks. He stood at the front step, feeling self-conscious as the warm Arlington breeze moved his pajama pant legs against his skin. He was contemplating turning around, but something made him ring the bell.

"Hey, Scott. Right on time." came the high, clear voice over the intercom, "Come right up."

On the fourth floor, the gold lettering on the door marked the right apartment, and Scott rapped on the wood with his knuckles, taking a deep breath. He didn't know what he was afraid of.

But the man he'd met earlier that day opened the door. He looked just as intriguing as before, and that odd feeling came back to Scott. He couldn't put his finger on where he'd seen him before. "Hi," He smiled down at Scott's blue plaid pajamas and hoodie, and that was when Scott noticed Coby's. It was a baggy golden brown onesie, with a white oval on the front. His bare feet were peeking out the elastic ankles and there were large buttons down the middle of the white.

"There's a hood," he laughed and pointed out the feature of Coby's onesie.

"I know. I love it." Cobie pulled it over his hair, and grinned as Scott took in the image of him in bear pajamas. The hood had little ears, and as Coby turned to welcome him in, Scott noticed the round stuffed tail on the back. Fucking adorable. "I hope you like pizza, 'cause that's what we're having, bitch."

He could already smell it, and a smile crossed his lips as he entered the apartment, his eyes caught on the movement of that little tail as he followed Coby's almost feline saunter, "I hope you like chardonnay, 'cause that's what I brought, bitch." He responded, letting his backpack slip from his shoulders.

"Ooh, perfect. Come here. You and I are gonna play video games, middle-school sleepover style."

The two plopped down on the floor in front of the couch where the box of pizza, several pillows, and the intro screen to a Mario racing game were already waiting. Scott gave a look around the living room and took in the setup. There was a couch against the wall, and some other bits of furniture, but much of the room was dominated by cardboard boxes. The TV was set up on the floor and the carpet was littered with game cases, pieces of various electronics, and tangles of wires. It looked like he was in the process of moving in.

"Show me what you got, Starbucks guy," Coby began the race.

"Why'd you do that for me? At the restaurant?"

"Help a guy out. You don't have to date me, you know. But this is fun. You're probably not gay, but I like you. If you wanna be friends I'm cool with that."

"I don't know. I guess I never thought about it. Dating girls has always just been a thing I've done. You're gay, right?" He inhaled through his teeth as his character made a tough turn.

"Yeah. Well. Not officially."

"Not officially?"

"I haven't come out to my parents yet."

Scott paused the game and turned to the smaller man, "You haven't come out yet? Are you planning to?"

Coby shrugged, "I don't know. I never felt like I had to."

"You think they'll get mad at you?" Scott suggested, "Maybe you're scared?"

"I don't think it's that. I've just been supported in everything, and they love me so much. Maybe I feel like it shouldn't matter. You know?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"You never had to tell your parents you were straight." He played the game, sending the little racecars back into motion.

"Shit!" Scott's character was sent careening off the edge of a cliff, but he paused the game again before he could respawn, "Wait, Coby. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. But I have a question."

"Kay," He dropped his controller in his lap and took a slice of pizza.

Scott pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket, "This is the signature you gave me. I want your full name."

"Coby Grassi." He responded past a mouthful of pepperoni breath.

"See. No," He pointed to the loopy signature, "That's an M. What's the M for, Coby?"

He pressed his lips together, swallowing his food and using his finger to fold his slice in half like a taco, "I feel a game of truth or dare coming on."

"Come on."

A sigh and a sassy eye roll, "I used to go by my first name, but started going by my middle name in college. The M is for Mitch."

"Really?" He frowned, digesting the information, "Why'd you change it?"

"Mitch is an old man name," He took another bite, chewing a couple times before pushing it in his cheek so he could speak clearly, "Mitchell Coby Michael Grassi, at your service." He made a mock bow, "There. You wanted my full name. It's a mouthful, isn't it?"

"You mean the name's a mouthful, or that wad of bread in your face?"

This earned him a slap on the arm and the threat of hot pizza being flung in his direction.

"Hey! Okay!" He leaned away from him, knowing Coby wasn't going to throw it, but it still triggered his dodge reflex, "No but really. You changed your name, you're scared to come out to your parents, and you still haven't told me what you do for a living. You're just a box of secrets aren't you?"

"Not scared," He frowned, "In my defense, I just met you, and you didn't exactly bare your soul to me either."

"True." He nodded.

"So why don't we play a game? We'll take turns. Fact for fact. First you tell me something about you, and then I'll tell you something about my dark, wounded past. Right after I kick your ass at Mario Kart."

"We'll see, Mitch." Scott played the video game, his character blinking back to life and resuming his hurdle through the pixelated world.

"Coby."

"I'm calling you Mitch. Fits you better."

Coby shoved him with his shoulder, his mouth curving in a half smile as his virtual self made a turn on screen.


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay, first question: What do you do?" Scott was having trouble speaking and racing his character at the same time and he ended up leaning his body to the left, his eyes squinted as he narrowly avoided sending his racer to his doom. This was such a hard track, with lava and dangerous ravines and narrow pathways through tunnels, all the while hurdling at ridiculous speeds.

"Like my job?" Mitch gasped through his teeth as a CP hit him with a bomb.

"Yeah."

"I'm an editor for a website."

Scott frowned, "Really? That doesn't sound right."

"What?" Mitch asked incredulously, "Why not?"

"I thought you'd say like a model or something. You seem like you'd have, like, a spotlight job."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

They fell into silence as the most intense stretch of the track took all their focus, but once they both hit an easier place Scott shrugged, "I don't know, you have that kind of personality. Where do you work?"

"Nope. My turn. What're you studying for?"

Scott sighed, "I'm in grad school. Business. I want to be a manager for a big company, and eventually maybe own my own place. There. Where do you work?"

"Right now? From home."

"Why are you avoiding me, Mitchy?" He nudged him with his shoulder.

"Don't call me that. And I'm not avoiding you."

"You call me Scotty," He defended, "Then I'll change the question. Where did you _used_ to work?"

"As an editor for a website."

"Mitch."

"I kinda don't want to tell you!" He smiled, "It's embarrassing."

Scott's character passed the finish line a hair before Mitch's did, earning him a slap on the shoulder. He left it in the victory screen for a minute so he could grab some pizza, "If you really don't want to tell me, you don't have to. But if you're talking about embarrassing jobs, I'm a Starbucks barista. What're you afraid of?"

Mitch nodded and shrugged, "True. Just promise me you won't look me up." He jabbed a pointer finger at him, a hard look on his face, "I worked in LA, making Youtube videos about random-ass shit. It wasn't a real career and it was hard living away from my family, so I moved back home, working as a blog editor while I go to school."

"Cool. That sounds fun. What website?"

Mitch chewed on his lip, his deep brown eyes telling of his discomfort, but he uttered the single word. The word that made Scott's almost nonexistent eyebrows shoot up, "Buzzfeed."

"No. Get out!"

"Yep," he nodded, "And now you're gonna look me up and dig up every single embarrassing thing about me aren't you?"

"Fuck yeah. How could I not? That's so cool! So you're kind of like a celebrity," He took a bite of his pizza, smiling at the new information. Mitch wasn't quite so mysterious anymore. "So I was right: you did have a spotlight job." Suddenly, the faint bell that kept ringing whenever he got the feeling that he'd met Mitch before, dinged loudly in his head. He'd probably seen him in Buzzfeed videos.

"Okay, now tell me an embarrassing fact," Mitch began working at opening the bottle of chardonnay Scott had brought, placing it in the pocket his onesie had formed when he crossed his legs. His black-painted fingernails clicked on the glass and his slender hands deftly removed the foil around the cork.

"Are you left handed?" Scott noticed the way he was working to remove the cork.

He nodded, then gave a pathetic, high-pitched wail as he pulled on the corkscrew. Somehow, this blatant display of his wimpiness was so adorable, his thin elbow angled above his head as he fought with the cork. Then, with an almost orgasmic sigh, the cork came free of the bottleneck, and the ghost-like wisps of evaporation escaped. "This is shitty chardonnay," Mitch commented, "But honestly, if it does the trick, I'm good with that."

"Hey. I'm a poor college student, remember?"

"I'm just giving you trouble. Why did you think I canceled Italian?"

Scott frowned, "Why _did_ You cancel Italian? That sounded like fun."

"Because, Scotty, I suspected that you're the kind to try and pay for dinner, and I wasn't gonna make you do that."

Scott was sort of stunned into silence, and hid his wordlessness by taking another bite of pizza. Mitch, someone he hadn't known until just today, was already so considerate to try and save him expense, "You said you lived in LA? That's my dream place. What was it like?"

"Your dream place? I mean-It was sunny as shit, warm all the time, and there are palm trees."

"All great. Why did you move back here? I mean, _Arlington,_ for God's sake. And you quit the job you had?"

"Don't go questioning my life choices, Mr Barista."

"Manager."

"What?" Mitch paused the flow of chardonnay into a glass, the bottle frozen in his hand as he gave him a raised eyebrow. Scott suddenly noticed how dark and neatly arched they were.

"I manage Starbucks. I'm in business, remember?"

"Huh," He grinned, "That changes things."

Scott didn't try to pressure him to explain. Instead, he grabbed the TV remote and switched to youtube.

Mitch, having gone back to pouring the two glasses, didn't notice as he began keying in the letters: _m.i.t.c.h. g.r.a… "_ Son of a bitch! Turn it off!"

But Scott ignored him, finishing the search and waiting for the suggestions to pop up.

"Don't, Scott! I don't even go by Mitch in Buzzfeed." He gave a grab for the remote, but Scott shrugged him off, "Come on!"

Some obscure, badly filmed squares appeared, but among them, there was a fuzzy little clip of what looked like a scruffier haired, zittier Mitch Grassi. Scott clicked. He felt a small body slam into his side, the arms fighting for the remote and an indignant voice rising in his ear, "Turn it off!" Scott pushed him, his hand in the center of his chest, and giggled as the two went down, their bodies sprawling on the carpet. _Man_ , he did have some strength to him, for being such a wiry thing. Mitch attempted to pin him so he could wrench the remote away, but only succeeded in elbowing him firmly in the chin.

"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean that!" Mitch backed off, pulling himself to his knees, a look of wide-eyed horror on his face.

But Scott was laughing. He rose, gasping for breath past his cackle, and dangled the remote tauntingly in front of Mitch. His ears perked as a southern drawl of the woman on the recording introduced Mitch as a "10th grader at Martin High School. He wants to 'Kiss the Air.'"

"Wait. You went to Martin?"

Mitch nodded, still looking disgruntled, and held a hand out for the remote, "It's bad. This is embarrassing."

"I went there."

The screen cleared to show a lone figure, standing against a black backdrop in badly fitted formal wear, the shirt untucked and the tie loosened. He looked so different, his hair falling over his eyes and his bad sideburns shading the sides of his jaw. But then he opened his mouth.

Mitch gave up, slouching against the couch with one hand partially hiding his wince.

The boy on the screen was singing a melancholy tune, but Scott wasn't even listening to the words. The voice was clear, high-pitched, and the face held so much emotion as he let the passion take him away. It was beautiful.

"Why are you embarrassed? You're so good." Scott smiled as Mitch gave him a flustered expression, his cheeks pink.

"It's so bad. I was so bad."

"I don't think so. I think you have a beautiful voice."

The pink got a little brighter and he hid his face in his hands again.

There it was again: the strange flutter of emotion in his chest. The feeling he'd only ever felt for girls, but now he seemed to be feeling a glow of attraction and fondness, something he never thought he'd feel for a man. Yet there it was. A warm hint of something he knew could develop into a crush. Scott turned back to the television, trying to ignore the adorable bashfulness Mitch was displaying, and attempted to tamp the feelings down in his being like espresso in the baskets. He couldn't let those feelings happen. He still had to think about his future, his reputation. _His job._ They couldn't take it away from him if he dated Mitch, could they? Nevertheless, he felt like his attraction to Mitch was something he had to keep down.


End file.
